Phantom blades
by Arvarna
Summary: Aomine Daiki, an Italian assassin under Kuroko Testu and Ezio Auditore's charge will soon complete his first month within the order along with his official initiation into the fabled 'Generation of Miracles'. GoM Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood/Revelations AU. Will develop into Aomine/Kuroko slash. Course language on the odd occasion. May be lemons later.
1. Chapter 1

**My first go at writing fanfiction. This is quite the experiment for me so please bear with me a bit. I'd appreciate any constructive feedback as well as ideas because frankly, I have no idea what I'm doing.**

**Kudos to jarofclay42 for coming up with the idea **

**I hope you enjoy this short starter**

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"They must be insane! Someone, do something!" The shrill shriek of a woman far below pierced through the cool late autumnal air, mingling with the bustling cacophony of 16th century Rome.

"You hear that Testu?" Came a ragged, laboured query not 4 feet above the boy in question. The source of the noise belonged to a tall, toned young assassin, whose association with the brotherhood had not yet exceeded one month. He still had much to learn, though even in light of his worryingly frequent blunders and ignorant youthful pride, it was clear that he held great potential.

"We are almost 50 feet above the ground, Aomine, this is hardly the time for pointless observations." Testuya replied, panting heavily from exertion. Trails of sweat trickled down his brow, causing his startling icy-blue hair to stick to his face and scrape at his eyes. Despite Tetsuya Kuroko's fearsome reputation as an assassin, wedded to the night since his early childhood, he would never be as athletically capable as his peers. Certainly not of the legendary clique he was a part of, otherwise known as the 'Generation of Miracles'. These were a handful of individuals of similar age favoured and tutoured by none other that the legendary grand-master Ezio. Knowledge is widely spread across Rome and all of Italy that they wield almost inhuman abilities and most bemusing of them all, brightly coloured hair.

"You're out of shape, Tetsu." Aomine teased, whilst pulling a tired and disgruntled Kuroko onto the conical tiled roof of the tower. The lithe frame of the wide-eyed youth beneath him was feather light, requiring considerably little effort on his part to lift him up. He held a firm grip on the thin arms of his friend and mentor, somehow inexplicably afraid that the teen would plummet without his guidance.

"I've told you before, Aomine Daiki..." the senior-ranking assassin responded, adding the first name in a feeble attempt of exerting dominance, "You'll see how much your physical strength will aid you when you're by yourself and wanted by the authorities."

"Of course it'll aid me dumbass, I'll beat them all to a pulp! Remember that time I took down 20 of those crack-heads? And call me Daiki, idiot, nobody uses last names anymore." Aomine haughtily responded. Kuroko found it mildly amusing how the larger man puffed out his chest in pride, standing tall on the precarious height as if he ruled the city. Of course, as this was Kuroko, and not one of Daiki's women, he felt the need to rain on his little parade.

"You were forced to go into hiding for a week while Sir Ezio and I bribed and cajoled your way to anonymity," he bluntly stated, "I would hardly call that a victory."

A visible frown wove its way across the dark blue brows on the white-clad man's head momentarily, before he reached behind his tan neck to pull a hood over his face.

"You always bring that up," he said, with a surprising trace of hurt, in the face of which Kuroko was rather taken aback. Aomine walked to the opposite side of the roof with cyan eyes trained on his broad back. He reached the ledge and swivelled to look at his best friend, holding his arms up laterally and smirking in his regular cocky fashion. "Race you to the bottom." And with a final swish of his snowy cloak and the creaking of leather, he leapt.

Like an eagle he flew, wind ripping at his back while he was pulled ever downwards. He remembered when this used to terrify him. It still did, though on a comparably minute scale. His first leap of faith was one he'd never forget, with the hopeful-yet-apprehensive face of Tetsuya imprinting itself into his mind before he put his life into fate's hands. Tetsu was the first friend he had gained upon joining the order, perhaps he was still the only one. His 'shadow', as his senior liked to call himself, had opted to be Aomine's mentor and guide as soon as the opportunity arose. To this day, Aomine still had no idea why.

All to soon, the familiar thump of hay met his ears as he was enveloped by the sweet-smelling yellow stalks. He did not wait for long however and with a quick twist he rolled out from the pile to his feet, brushing the stray threads from his red-and-white attire. He looked round with amusement as a few startled faces turned his way. Footsteps faltered on neatly-paved streets as the uptown residents would watch him wearily, some were even muttering about wild lunatics. Kuroko would usually scold him at this point, stating in his bland fashion how he was drawing too much attention to himself. Though, as Aomine realised with a start, Kuroko hadn't come down yet. Worry wriggled its way into his heart, pulling on his chest while he ripped the scenery apart for any sign of blue.

"What's wrong?" came a bored voice from behind, "You seem distressed about something." Aomine jumped so high he might as well have not jumped off of the spire as he whipped round to be confronted with the most obnoxious owlish cyan eyes he had ever had the misfortune to be acquainted with.

"You little shit!" he screamed, wilfully preventing his knuckles from colliding with the teenager's face. "How many times, Tetsu, Don't sneak up on me like that! How did you even freaking get down here?!"

"The way you did, obviously." The youth simply shrugged, though an irritatingly obvious upward tilt could be observed on the corner of his mouth.

He's smirking, the little cocky bastard, Aomine thought as his partner suddenly took an interest in something behind him.

"We should run." Was all Kuroko said as he spun on the spot, trailing ebony black fabric in his wake. The weapons on his blood-red belt and the knives on his back jingled and clanged from the sudden movement as he dashed away and melted into the shadows. Aomine only managed a look around his shoulder before a guard was upon him, berating him for his scandalous public behaviour and charging him for public indecency.

"Like hell I will." He laughed, revelling in the appalled look on the man's face until the shock turned to outrage.

"We have a rebel on our hands men!" he sneered, brandishing his now drawn cutlass at the hooded assassin, "How about we teach him a lesson or two, eh?" The three similarly armoured men around him roared in approval as one by one they drew their knives, swords and hammers. This would have failed to phase Aomine, had not four more men arrived on the scene plus a crossbowman. He'd had a few bad run-ins with those damned shooters.

Time to go! He internally prompted as he turned tail and ran, crudely pushing past anyone who stood in his way. He could feel the pounding of his heart quickening with every step he took, pumping adrenaline around his body with the sudden acceleration.

"Get 'im! Don't let him get away!" One of the men behind him bellowed, followed by the whistle of a bolt not an inch from Aomine's ear, rebounding with a clatter from a stone wall. A clatter of heavy footsteps followed his trail, undaunted by his weaving through alleys and crowds. A wave of frustration flushed over him at his inability to lose them like Kuroko did. He sincerely hoped Tetsu wasn't watching; he could never stand the sight of the teen's disappointed face.

Aomine took another look over his shoulder to see that the group had grown and was fast approaching. A look ahead spelt even worse news, as a row of them lined up awaiting his arrival with weapons drawn. How predictable, he chides, as he swerves to a tiered set of boxes. With three consecutive leaps he traverses them like steps, launching himself upon some shop sign and from there onto the top of the building. He hears a cacophony of growls and gasps from the group behind him as he sprints across precarious tiled roofs. With speed and agility overpowering their unpractised climbing, he swiftly flings himself into one of the many curtained roof-gardens. Amazingly, by the time the now exhausted pack reached his hiding place they simply jogged right on past.

Gotta give it to him, Aomine reflected whilst casting his thoughts to his sneaky mentor, the hidey thing works.

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**And that's all I've gotten to so far. It's funny because this tiny thing took me four hours. Perhaps practice will coax a more fluent stream from my thoughts to the page. I should have taken up creative writing, I have no idea how to paragraph. I just hit the enter button whenever I felt like it. I also apologise to all American readers for my British spelling habits. Thanks for reading xx **


	2. Chapter 2

**not much to add except to thank XxBlacktears27xX, jarofclay42, hitomi65 and Mikitsu Kisa-chan for their kind reviews x They really brighten my day x**

**Time to bring on the villains**

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The horse's back shifted and rolled, back and forth in time with the steady rhythm of it's hooves. A metronomic beat of ones and twos echoed on stone walls as it trotted gracefully through cobbled streets and among bustling crowds. The figure riding the tall chestnut stallion was of opposingly minuscule stature and dressed in embellished red finery, puffed out in a feeble attempt to make him appear larger. A matching hat was situated upon his shaggy brown hair with a long orange plume bobbing around the side. He was only young, perhaps thirteen years of age and did not possess an ugly face, though neither would it likely be an object of desire. With a straight nose, small slitted eyes and terse lips to match his equally narrow face his presence would cause no turning of heads, at least not in the throng of Upper-class nobles below him. No, what caused their interest to spike was what followed in his wake. A great carriage of gold and scarlet hauled along by majestic white horses adorned with jewelled harnesses and feathered bridles. Between the swathes of blood-red drapes that hung loosely from the antiquated frame, one could spy thick cushions and padded blankets of the highest quality fabrics.

"See how they stare, son." A thick baritone voice resonated inside the carriage walls. Rolls of fat vibrated around his throat and shifted underneath his clothes at the sudden movement of his chest. Despite the cool breeze that fluttered the curtains and his companions' hair, sweat caressed his forehead and buried underneath his layers of flesh.

"I do, father." Came a considerably younger voice, his voice yet feathered with the inconsistent tremors of teenage youth.

The boy was not yet eighteen and unlike his father's greased black hair, he had wild golden strands that danced and twisted in the breeze. This came as a shock to many in the household, the lord's only son after many years of trying was fair instead of dark. He was lean, tall and naturally muscular, in stark contrast to his father's family who were short of stature and rounded at the middle. On first thought it was his mother who was the accused, almost persecuted on the accusation of adultery against her legal partner. That was until her father came to the rescue. Her hair was midnight black and eyes of grey, she could no more birth an amber son as her husband. All argument was put at rest and they were from there content to name him a miracle of God.

"I trust we will be received by the family?" The mother said, turning her icy gaze from her husband on her left to the man opposite.

"Indeed they will Madam," spoke the old man addressed, "It would be scandalous and an insult should they not. They are a much honoured and well-mannered house. You have my word that only a welcome befitting of your highly respected status shall receive you, unless some horrific tragedy were to occur."

"Well we must hope that such tragedy should not befall them, is that not right my dear?" Chortled the obese lord, the stench of wine mingling in his breath.

The woman simply nodded her head and returned her gaze to her needles, loosing any interest in the conversation and cutting it short. The youth to the right of the old man let out a deep sigh, focusing his amber eyes upon his distant mother. Her impatience and sour mood was not lost on him, though it was often that she referred to him as an idiot incapable of political or social understanding. He did not miss the sharp tone to her words nor the lies that his parents spoke.

Neither of them wanted to be here, nor did they want to visit the Lorenzetti's. They were forced to be here by the overbearing lords they'd sworn allegiance to. The templars, they called themselves. Power-hungry clans of nobles and kings situated all over the world. The boy did not know how long his family had served their cause, only that one day he would take over his father's position and become one of their lapdogs himself. An inescapable fate from the iron-clad fists of tyrants. Not that he was permitted to view his dreary future this way. All he wanted to do was play, party and copulate his way to happiness as every rich hormonal young man did.

Horses grunted and the clattering of hooves slowed as their driver hauled on the long leather reigns. Not long after they'd halted completely, an armoured man appeared before the carriage entrance, announcing their arrival. It took almost three men to haul the giant lord out. His wife, son, and political adviser soon followed suit.

"Greetings! Welcome to our home." A well-dressed bearded man called from a set of stone steps, situated in front of a beautiful set of carved double-doors. A balcony overhead jutted from the second floor, framing the entrance way with gorgeous white Roman-style pillars and extending at least one and a half meters from the wall.

"Ah!" cried the stout noble from his place beside the carriage, "Orsino Lorenzetti if I am not mistaken?"

"Indeed Sir Fabio, now come in, come in! Before you grow cold! We may exchange pleasantries once you are safe inside, dark times in Rome I'm sad to say."

With a flick of the lord's wrist, servants flooded from his side to help unload their baggage and care to their horses. The red-clad guide that led their way ungracefully flung himself from the tall horse he rode, guiding the animal out of view in the direction of the stables.

The heavy front doors were flung open by burly men, giving way to a stunning entrance hall of marble and rich carpets. Paintings lined the walls, all originating from notable and respected artists from all over Italy depicting religious scenes of angels and saints. A gold candle-lit chandelier hung from a domed ceiling, an alabaster symmetrical canvas of arches and swirls.

"I take it this is your son. Thorello, was it? Will he and your dear wife be joining us for dinner?" The bearded nobleman motioned to the fair-haired youth to Fabio's side.

"They shall," Fabio puffed, uncaring of his wife's or son's opinion on the matter, "And no, Thorello is not yet five years of age. He has been left back at the Palazzo, this is my eldest son. Eighteen as of next year." The large man puffed out his already considerable chest in pride, beckoning his over-six-foot son over from where he was carrying the luggage. Among the small people of Italy and of the noble classes his son was something of a giant. A popular bragging point and most of the reason he brings his son along on his political and business ventures.

"I see, well I'd be delighted to see you at the table Lady Christiana." Orsino bent down and gave the lady a kiss on the hand. Not that she was particularly delighted about it. "You also, young master." He cocked a smile and held his hand out in welcome.

"Thank you, sir." The teen answered whilst taking his hand in a firm grasp, smiling at the green-garbed lord in front. He had decided he was rather fond of Orsino. The man had a whole-hearted and kind smile on his face, the type that caused the corners of the eyes to crinkle and fold. His mahogany beard somehow added to his jolly face, though neither was he plump like many rich men. He was of average build though far below the youth in height and only slightly more padded around the belt. He did hold a decent mass of muscle which was represented by the firmness of his handshake.

"It's good to meet you my boy, now if you will kindly follow my son over there, he'll lead you to your chambers." He beckoned off to his right, motioning to the the youth that had lead their procession before. His face was far less kind thank his father's, a look of almost hatred directed toward the seventeen year old.

"This way." He ordered gruffly, waiting for the object of his detest to reach his position on the stairs. He observed his father leading the couple up the other flight toward the large guest bedroom situated in the other wing.

"Hey there, what's your name?" The blonde asked once he'd reached Orsino's son. He soon realised he'd entirely forgotten to inform the lord of his name. It was of little matter, the opportunity would arise over the course of the evening.

"Francesco." The boy replied, the word ending in an uncomfortably sharp note.

This did not phase the teen. In fact, it made him want to try even more to make the young boy like him. He donned a beaming smile that lit up his already stunningly attractive face.

"Well I'm Kise Ryota! Nice to meet ya."

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**That's all until the next chapter. Reviews make me happy so please throw me some, even if it's to correct my appalling grammar. I also apologise to any and all Italians out there for my ignorance concerning renaissance Italy and Italian names. (I basically just searched the baby name websites)**


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